


A Stitch in Time

by HachimansKitsune



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22062304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HachimansKitsune/pseuds/HachimansKitsune
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	A Stitch in Time

One minute they were standing with Adam as he declared his Satanly father was in fact not his father at all, and never had been… and the next they were sitting on their favourite bench in St. James Park.

To say that Aziraphale and Crowley were surprised would be an understatement of celestial proportions.

“I say… what just happened?” Aziraphale murmured, blinking as he took in the vanilla cone and Flake in his hand, which up until a moment before had been brandishing a flaming sword in what he felt was a rather threatening and confident manner. “And what happened to your hair?”

Crowley’s hand flew to his hair, marveling at the shoulder length waves, where a few minutes earlier it had been short. Slowly he looked around the park, his keen sight seeking out any minute change that would tell him what happened. Adjusting his sunglasses, Crowley pursed his lips and glanced upward, wondering if they would be struck by lightening, or worse. When nothing happened for several moments, he sighed and looked at the only being in the whole of existence he would truly call ‘friend’. Crowley was oddly reassured by the way Aziraphale was licking at the ice cream cone. As long as his angel had an appetite, everything would be all right – that much he was sure of.

“I have no idea. Well… I have a hunch,” the demon drawled, his eyes drawn to the way that Aziraphale licked at a wayward drip of the melting ice cream, the late-afternoon September sun making it melt at an alarming rate. Turning the cone to protect his antique suit from yet another errant drip, the angel sucked the ice cream from his tongue and lips, happily oblivious to the golden eyes that drank in every flick of the pudgy tongue.

Shaking himself from his temporary thrall, Crowley realized that Aziraphale had been talking. “Um…what was that Angel?”

“I simply asked if you were going to share your hunch or not?” Aziraphale replied, attacking another set of milky dribbles as they attempted to escape down the side of his ice cream cone. “Why mention it otherwise? I mean, that would be rude, wouldn’t it…” he continued, blathering on in his somewhat obtuse way.

“Well if you’d hush a moment and let me get a word in edgewise, I would tell you,” the redhead hissed.

For all the characteristics and idiosyncrasies that he appreciated about Aziraphale, the angel’s penchant for blathering on and on with a verbosity that Shakespeare would find an affront, was not one of them.

Aziraphale’s full cheeks flushed faintly pink as he sucked on his lower lip. “Oh right… carry on then.”

Seeing the flush in his Angel’s cheeks, Crowley felt a stinging pang of regret over being sharp with him.

“Well, given the length of my hair and the changes I see about the park, I’d venture to guess that Adam changed things.”

“No surprise there then. That _is_ what we suggested that he should do. So, all’s well that ends well?” Aziraphale smiled, a hint of confusion still showing in his blue eyes. “Right?”

Unfortunately, Crowley was unable to give the angel the reassurance he seemed to want -- there was none to give. Trying to keep his usual air of unaffected ‘coolness’, Crowley waved his hand toward the park in general.

“Not exactly… right,” he murmured in reply, flinching inwardly at the way Aziraphale looked at him with something akin to fear. “Unless I miss my guess, Adam did change things, but I think he put them back to before he was ‘born’.”

Aziraphale gawked at him, missing a drip of ice cream as it fell from the bottom of the cone toward his brocade waistcoat. Gently Crowley blew at the drop, sending it drifting to power upon the wind. 

“Oh dear me...surely he didn’t…” the angel mumbled, popping the last of the cone into his mouth and crunching it with such force he nearly choked.

Glancing around, Crowley hopped up and sauntered to the next bench, his lips curled in a disarming smile. “Do you mind?” he purred as he snatched a newspaper from the hands of the the Russian consular official who liked to feed Russian brown bread to the cormorants and swans. “Ahh yes...I thought not.” 

Crowley turned on his heel and returned to Aziraphale, leaving the diplomat gawping after him. Sprawling on the bench with his usual casual air, he opened the newspaper with a brisk flick of his fingers, the newsprint cracking overly loud in the autumn afternoon. 

“Well the good news is Adam didn’t reset the timeline entirely,” he sighed, skimming the newspaper.

“Oh...excellent. See, I knew there was nothing to worry about,” Aziraphale grinned, adjusting his waistcoat.

“Yeah, well...I wouldn’t celebrate yet, Angel. I was only off by four years.”

Blinking the angel snatched the newspaper from Crowley’s hands, the paper rustling in his trembling hands. “You can’t possibly be serious, Crowley!”

“See for yourself, Angel.”

Much to Aziraphale’s dismay, the demon was telling the truth.

“Adam’s fourth birthday,” he murmured, looking from the dateline of the newspaper, to the smug looking demon next to him. “Should we...I don’t know... send him a card? Or maybe a present? Boys that age do like trains and such.”

Behind the dark sunglasses, the demon’s golden eyes narrowed. “A present? A card? Oh sure, that would go over great. Two strange men pop by unexpected with presents for a child they shouldn’t know of?”

“Well, everyone likes presents,” Aziraphale countered, as he neatly folded the newspaper and set it between them.

“Forget the present will you, Angel?” Crowley snapped, tapping his fingers irritably on the back of the bench. “What we should be asking is why Adam reset the timeline to _this_ day.”

Covering his mouth with a hand, Aziraphale shook his head in thought. Crowley glanced at him waiting for him to start babbling nonsense, only to be distracted by a golden glint he hadn’t noticed earlier.

A ring.

A golden band around his angel’s left ring finger.

“Bloody Hell… what is that?” he hissed, pointing at Aziraphale’s hand. 

Now seeing the ring on his hand for the first time, Aziraphale touched it in awe. “My my...look at that. It looks almost like a....but no...it couldn't be....” he murmured, then looked at Crowley who was no longer looking at the angel’s hand but the dark black band around his own ring finger. “I say… you have one too. What in Heaven could it mean?”

Grabbing the ring from his finger, Crowley held it up to the light. He squinted painfully and peered over his glasses his heart racing as he worked to decipher the etching inside the ring. With an inarticulate grunt, he snatched at the ring on Aziraphale’s hand.

“What _are_ you doing, Crowley. Honestly, don’t be grabby...just ask!” the angel protested, then tugged the ring from his hand (with some difficult getting it over his pudgy knuckles), and handed it to the demon.

Crowley held the angel’s ring to the sunlight and examined it as well, his heart faltering at the writing etched inside. 

“Crowley...Crowley… whatever is the matter?” Aziraphale murmured, growling more alarmed by the way the demon's skin had gone far more pale than usual.

Silently, the demon placed both rings in Aziraphale’s palm. The Principality pursed his lips as he raised them to read the etching inside each ring, a gasp tumbling past his lips. With his heart thundering in his ears, he stared in shock at the demon who had become a constant in his life over the centuries.

“They….We’re….” he mumbled.

“Husbands,” finished Crowley. “We’re…”

“Married,” Aziraphale whispered. 


End file.
